


Context

by sunnyjams



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, My first fic!!, Secret Relationship, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyjams/pseuds/sunnyjams
Summary: scan·dal/ˈskandl/the relation connecting or binding participants in a relationship such as a romantic or passionate attachment





	Context

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! welcome to my first fic :) please enjoy even though it's short and let me know what you think!

Scandal. Synonymous to a wrongdoing, a malpractice, an immorality, a  _ sin _ .

 

Synonymous to a relationship.  


 

At least, in Mark’s world it was. For context was everything.

 

If Mark had one wish, one pleading desire, it would be to have never fallen in love, to never even have had the chance. What god had he insulted in his past lives, what genocide had he committed, to deserve such a handicap?

 

Love was bitter, demanding, and fiery, a provocative force that never lost. Mark, unfortunately, had bitten the apple, believed in the bait, gullible and young and recklessly curious. If only his mother could see him now.

 

Mark had assumed he knew love. It appeared tangled into worn locks and heart-shaped lips and soft grins and ruthless remarks that kept him up all night. It drifted behind him like a phantom that could not rest, destined to haunt the every waking minute of mortals, during midnight snack runs fueled by exhaustion and sweat and the thrill of companionship. It loved to clog his throat with insuperable lumps when the stylists decided skin-tight was a good idea, or unsheathing that thick black eyeliner. It taunted him in a mirror’s reflection, fluid and beautiful and  _ deadly _ . It screamed in his face as profanities were thrown at a television, neon lights dancing in bright, wild eyes. It fused to cracking and ringing notes alike, register untested and entirely sonorous. It seeped into his covers in soft puffs and lazy babbling at ungodly hours of the morning, resolved to induce insomnia. And it especially preferred slipping underneath closed doors and mingling among shared breaths and red faces, suppressed giggles and tender smiles.

 

His manager, however, assumed otherwise.

 

Mark understood how selfish he was being. But who wasn’t, given the context, given everything they’ve been through that couldn’t be classified according to burning cheeks and awkward glances, in their line of work? What was he supposed to do?

 

There was no routine to follow, no step-by-step tutorial, no older member’s guiding hand. He could lose it all, and whose fault would it be? His? The stupid chemical pheromones pumping through his hormonal body?

 

Who, what, when, where, how,  _ why _ . All very good questions, ones Mark had seemingly missed the answers to along the way. Forgotten, perhaps? ...Ignored?

 

Who? Mark and Donghyuck,  _ him  _ and Donghyuck, Donghyuck his best friend, the boy who sat beside him right now, the boy who was fearless, and the boy who looked anything but at the moment.

 

What? Well that was obvious enough. It’s why they were here.

 

And concerning the rest… It was confusing to pinpoint the blame, but his manager was insisting. The thing was, Mark had no idea where innocent high fives began and clammy, magnetic palms ended, when impish grins became knowing, saccharine spilling smiles, how furtive glances matured into heavy gazes. It all just… happened. Yes, it was impulsive. Yes, it didn’t mean anything. Yes, let’s brush this whole thing under a heavy, opaque carpet. Yes, yes, yes, yes,  _ yes _ .

 

Yes, his head may be shaking, but his fingers were too, white and grasping the cushioned armrest. 

 

Yes, his head may be agreeing, but his heart was screaming no, how could you.

 

Yes, his head may appear collected, nature grateful even, but inside he was a collection of contradictions, fireworks colliding in a dark cavern of uncertainty.

 

Yes, he wants to give up. Give in, in other words. Maybe that’s why his head remained rigid to the adjacent loud-mouthed boy who wasn’t so loud-mouthed today.

 

For context was everything. If only he and a certain sun-kissed boy weren’t sitting in a stuffy office in an apathetic company building…

 

If only his mother could hear him now.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much if you actually made it to end of this!! i'm currently working on some other (bigger) projects that will hopefully showcase my writing a bit more (and i'm mostly excited to write more markhyuck content lmao) i would really appreciate any feedback or anything if you have the time :)


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